Violent Delights Violent Ends
by Mallory1
Summary: Y'all are gonna hate me...Ten years into the future, Hunter and Morgan meet in New York City.


**Violent Delights; Violent Ends** by Mallory

_"These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder, which, as they kiss, consume."_

-William Shakespeare 

* * *

He was walking aimlessly around. The man he was supposed to find had eluded him. He sighed, and decided to go home; it was late and there was nothing more that he could do tonight. 

He tried to get a taxi but every one of them seemed to be full. And so he began the long walk back to his apartment on the lonely streets of New York City. 

He had almost reached his apartment, when, not looking where he was going, he bumped into her. 

"Oh, excuse me," he said. He stopped; he recognized her; his breathing went shallow; his heart started pounding wildly. "Morgan," he said softly. 

"Hello, Hunter," she said. 

"My place--it's not far. Just another block." 

She nodded. 

He grabbed her hand and they walked quickly back to his apartment building. In the elevator, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him. For a brief second, their eyes met; they stared; the world stopped. Then one or both of them remembered that this was dangerous. 

Their lips met. They kissed each other violently. They needed each other; they wanted each other. 

The elevator _ding_ed; it opened. She was still kissing him. She couldn't get enough of him. 

He pushed her back gently so that he could put the key in the door. 

"Morgan," he said, as he turned the key. She was kissing him again. Reluctantly he pulled himself away. "We need to talk." He pushed the door open. 

She jumped down and walked in. He followed, and locked the door. She was looking at the apartment, at the books, at the artwork, at the framed picture of her. 

"Morgan," he tried again, "We need to talk." 

A part of him was telling him that he had lost her. 

She opened the door to his bedroom. Grabbing him and pulling him into the bedroom, she whispered, "Don't talk. Just feel." And his lips found hers and it was bliss. 

* * *

she was saying hunter hunter hunter over and over and over again and that was nice because he loved it when she said his name and his heart was going like mad and he was saying morgan morgan morgan over again too 

* * *

He woke in the middle of the night. The digital alarm clock said 1:03. His arm was around her and her arm was thrown over his chest. 

He moved his arm so that he could stoke her hair. She sighed happily--he wondered if she was even awake--and fell into a deeper sleep. 

Stroking her silky hair, seeing her face illuminated by the moonlight, made the tears rise in his eyes. 

All he could have had...! And he had lost it. How had he even lost it? he wondered. He didn't know. She had simply drifted away from him. 

But he still loved her. 

* * *

The next time he awoke, she was gone. He closed his eyes again. He was used to this. Since they had broken up--drifted apart? --ten years ago, they had seen each other only three times. 

The first time was two years later. They were both in San Francisco. They saw each other; they went to his hotel room; they tried to talk; they didn't--not much anyway; they fucked; she left. 

The next time, a year later, in London, they saw each other, and again they tried to talk again. But they had, somewhere along the way, forgotten how to talk to each other. She was gone before he awoke. 

The third time was two years later, in Toronto. They didn't even try to talk then; just lost themselves in each other. He left, this time, before she awoke. He left Toronto, too. He didn't want to see her. 

And now it was five years after that last meeting. He wanted her more than anything. He loved her. He might not ever see her again. 

He got out of bed. 

The hot shower water poured over him, finished waking him up, mingled with the tears that chased themselves down his face. The sense of what he had lost was so overwhelming, so unbearable…! His whole body was racked with sobs. He leaned against the shower wall. He missed her so much. 

He got out of the shower; he dried himself off; he put his jeans on. Don't let it hurt, he told himself. 

He went over to the mirror. There was a note taped to it: 

_Hunter, _

You said you wanted to talk. I have some business to take care of, and I have a 6:00 train out of here. But if you want to talk, there's a café about 2 blocks from your apartment. Meet me there at 5:00. 

Morgan 

He stared; he caught his breath; he grinned. 

* * *

He was tearing off a piece of a cookie when she came into the café. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was wearing jeans and a Fianna t-shirt. 

He grinned when he saw that t-shirt. He had taken her to see them 10--no, 11--years ago. He bought her that t-shirt, too. 

"Hi," she said, as she sat down. 

"Hi," he said. She was so beautiful. 

"You wanted to talk?" 

"Yeah. I haven't seen you in so long, and we haven't talked in even longer than that. How are you?" he asked. 

"I'm good. The council's got me tracking down Killian. He, apparently, has been up to no good. How are you?" 

"As good as I can be without you." Her cheeks warmed. "Do you want something to eat?" 

"No, I'm ok." 

He frowned. "You don't eat enough." 

She rolled her eyes. "So responsible. What have you been up to lately, Mr. Niall?" 

_Attempting to infiltrate Amyranth,_ he said, in her mind so that unfriendly persons wouldn't hear. 

"Is it fun?" 

"Not really. Thank you for…for leaving that note. I've missed you." 

"Yeah, um," she said. 

"I was hoping we could see each other more often," he said softly. 

"Oh, Goddess, Hunter, the reason I needed to see you…I had to tell you…We can't keep doing this. I can't…I can't see you anymore." 

"What?" his voice was a harsh, painful whisper. "Why?" 

"Oh, Goddess…Hunter…I'm getting married." 

He felt the anger well up in his veins. He was jealous. He remembered when they had first started dating, and a part of her had still been in love with Cal Blaire. He had been jealous then. But this feeling…it was much, much worse than that. 

"Who?" he asked. His voice was calm, rational; inside, he was screaming. 

"You don't know him." 

"When?" 

"May." 

"What was last night?" 

"God, I don't know, Hunter. I'm sorry," she said quietly. 

"Do you love him?" 

She didn't say anything for a long while. Then, finally, she stood. "Yes, I do love him." 

She turned away from him, and began to walk out. Abruptly, she stopped. Her head turned ever so slightly, and she said, "You know I'll always love you, though, right?" 

He couldn't stand this. This was too much. 

If he couldn't fucking have her he didn't want anyone else to have her either. 

He followed her out, quietly. She didn't know he was there. And slowly he began to weave a spell. She didn't feel it yet. When she felt it, it would be too late. 

He had known her true name for a while. After her initiation, they'd slept together. And as their bodies had melted into each other, he felt her name. 

He whispered it; it hung in the air, cold and glitteringly beautiful; she stopped frozen in her tracks. 

_Keep walking,_ he whispered. 

She walked. He felt her fear, and anger, and pain, and he was glad. She had broken his heart; he would do much worse to her. 

* * *

He regretted it later; more than that, he loathed himself for it; he knew he had acted rashly; he wished he could undo it. But now she was dead. 

It didn't matter anymore. 

Nothing. 

None of it mattered. 

He, Hunter Niall, had killed the one thing that mattered. The sun, the moon, the stars, joy, laughter, happiness, beauty, poetry. He had killed her. The one perfect thing. And he had killed her. 

What had he done? 

Tears were spilling down his cheeks. 

He held the gun up to his head. 

_Fin._


End file.
